


People Will Say We're in Love

by abrae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Ficlet, Possibly Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrae/pseuds/abrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/lizeckhart/pseuds/professorfangirl">professorfangirl</a>, who prompted "<i>Sherlock watches Silence of the Lambs with John and gets really, really upset, and John has to figure out why</i>. " He's not very upset, but there's something that's gnawing at him a bit. Not, um, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Will Say We're in Love

He’d thought Sherlock would enjoy the film; but then, he was the one who had brought Cluedo into their lives, and look how that turned out. It takes John twenty minutes to realise that Sherlock completely lacks any ability to suspend his disbelief, ten minutes more to discover that he’s utterly incapable of keeping it to himself, and a record three more minutes more for John to jump up from the sofa, hurl the remote at the cushions, and retreat to his bedroom for some peace and quiet.

And if that peace and quiet happens to involve his laptop and a wank that’s like so many of them lately - long in coming and a bit unsatisfying when it does - well, that’s as it is.

It’s past midnight when John awakes. He goes downstairs to get a glass of water and finds the television turned off (he counts it a victory) and Sherlock sitting on the sofa in the dark.

“Sherlock?” he asks. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock turns to look at him, his expression masked by shadows, and abruptly asks, “What’s your worst memory, John?”

“What?” John says with a frown. “Why?”

Sherlock gives an impatient shake of his head. “Just — what is it?”

“I — look,” John says with a nod towards the kitchen. “Can I just — a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock waves his hand impatiently, and with a roll of the eyes that’s mercifully hidden by the dark, John gets his drink and returns to sit on the sofa. Sherlock is leaning back against the cushions, his fingers tented before his face, and John’s a bit surprised that he hasn’t commandeered the length of it as he’s wont to do. It’s an almost heartwarming concession, coming from him.

“So what’s this all about?” John asks as he settles in his seat; historically, these kinds of conversations can last anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours, and he at least wants to be comfortable.

“Just what I said. What is your worst memory?”

“Is this to do with the film?”

“Just answer the question for me, John,” Sherlock says in that long-suffering tone of which he is master. But beneath it there’s something else, and if John didn’t know better he’d think Sherlock was… worried?

“Well, erm, let’s see. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

Sherlock nods. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you?” he mutters, and John starts in protest. “No,” Sherlock clarifies. “I simply mean that you’re not given to introspection.”

“Hey!” John exclaims, but Sherlock gives a little shake of his head.

“ _Gratuitous_  introspection.”

He’s not convinced that this is much of an improvement, but John nonetheless sits back and considers Sherlock’s question. His mind is no palace; it’s more a foot locker into which he unceremoniously dumps his less pleasant memories. Whether by biology or nature, he’s unable to simply erase them as Sherlock might, but neither does he care to take them out to review. John’s a firm believer in leaving the past behind - if not, there’s no way he could have recovered from the shock of Sherlock’s ‘suicide’.

“When you jumped,” he announces into the dark.

His eyes having adjusted to the lack of light, John can see the furrow of Sherlock’s brow.

“No,” he responds. “That can’t be it. Something more… you told me once you knew what your last thought would be, were you about to die. Something must have happened to you — surely that would have been more traumatic?”

John agrees, it’s certainly a horrific memory. But then it was just him - he had felt the fear of pain and the  _waste_  his life had been. He’d done nothing meaningful, had made no difference to anyone in the world; he’d only got caught with his pants down and nearly gotten others killed because of it. It was a moment of stupidity that would resurface from time to time to remind him of his fallibility, but even then it was hardly on par with the soul-shattering anguish of seeing Sherlock plummet to the ground, and him helpless to stop it.

“Sorry,” John says after a moment. “That’s my answer.”

Sherlock’s mouth tightens, but he’s quiet and, after a moment, John ventures, “Why do you ask?”

His answer, if it can be called that, is characteristically enigmatic.

“It really is quite something to know you, John.”


End file.
